Antiphon
by Solita
Summary: He left those three weeks, and no one saw him... except for them. (A side story to A Life Mistake.)


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
         There are thirteen invitations waiting upon the kitchen floor.   
  
         I don't know if I should open one or all of them at once.  
  
         They are tempting me. I can feel them shouting my name. They want me. I don't want them.  
  
         I believe they are screaming my name now. It's like a beautiful melody and a sinful harmony all in one.  
  
         They're all colored different. One red, one blue, one green, one black. They all shout with different tones, different pitches, different...  
  
         All so different.  
  
         I have to open them. I already know what the contents are inside. But I have to. I need to open them. They are beckoning me, calling me, wishing me to rip them open and flourish in their desires and pleasures and despair inside.  
  
         No one is around. I'm all alone. I have been alone since I turned the wheel of grusome time. Everything is so strange in here. I think I should have been lost. And gone. And forgotten. I guess it wasn't planned for me.  
  
         I wonder what he thinks of me. Vegeta. I think he knows more that what he fathoms.   
  
         But will I tell him?   
  
         Of course not.  
  
         It is his own choice to follow the little invitations I see in front of me. There is no holding back. Maybe he'll find out that deep in the night, everything is clear, much more clearer than in daylight. He's smart enough. He'll figure it out.  
  
         But his mind won't tell him. Heh.  
  
         When the darkness eats away the day, and the moon bears witness to the graves and the ghosts and the nightmares that lurks upon the world and these thirteen invitations, the shadows will rise and help.  
  
         We might be alive then. I'm not sure.  
  
         The things I know are coming. The things I pushed away when I realised them are coming. They are all coming and they are coming for me.   
  
         They need a mistake to be rewritten and solved, after all.  
  
         But here they are, the thirteen invitations. All of them waiting to be open by me.  
  
         In the Devil's eyes, I should leave them be. In the Lord's eyes, I should leave them be. But they don't exist. They never did.  
  
         In my eyes, I should take them.   
  
         And I do.  
  
         All those thirteen invitations rest neatly in my hands, six in one hand, seven in the other hand. No one is around to watch me leave. No one is around to see me open them. And no one is around to gape at the contents inside, which is nothing more...  
  
         Than useless dust.  
  
         Dust. That's all they are filled with.  
  
         In every invitation there is nothing but dust.  
  
         All the contents are empty, and my entire body is covered in dust. Ordinary dust coming from every source known.   
  
         I know the others would be confused. They never understand meanings. Or read between the lines of sentences to find the truth. Truth comes hard to those that are acualities.  
  
         Truth comes easy to those born a mistake.  
  
         Those thirteen invitations are blown away in the wind, going to who knows where. Maybe back into the invitees hands.  
  
         I look at the dust on my hands, the wind trying to brush it all away but it proves useless. Just like everyone else. The dust reaks upon my body like a horrible stench or a vile liquid covering every inch of my skin.  
  
         Dust cannot leave my skin, though.   
  
         Doesn't anyone remember the saying of, "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust"?  
  
         Or even this variant saying of, "From dust you came, to dust you shall return"?  
  
         I think Vegeta would have gotten that. He is smarter than what he thinks. He just has to realize it somehow, someway. He would prove to be a good friend after all.  
  
         I need good friends.  
  
         Slowly I lay backwards and fall upon the ground. The dust is still on me.  
  
         I don't care.  
  
         I don't mind.  
  
         I don't fathom.  
  
         And I am insane.  
  
         Vegeta probably got that by now.  
  
         Spells, witches, warlocks, mermaids, faries -- I love those fantasies.  
  
         It's just a dream within a dream of a dream to lose a dream with a dream.  
  
         I like fantasies, but I hate dreams. The distinction is there.  
  
         Chimeras are more fun to talk about, though.  
  
         They have a certain ring to the name. Chimeras. Chimeras. Shi-mer-ahs. Sounds like velvet. Or glitter. Or velvet and glitter and gold. How pretty.  
  
         The thirteen invitations gave me the date, the time, and the question.  
  
         I just have to reply to the demand.  
  
         I look up to the sky and I see the stars that are covered by the blue and I wish that I could see the mirror of the universe and watch the killer that portrays them.  
  
         Breath and mind of you all, I know that you watch me intentively.  
  
         And so here is my answer to your call.  
  
         The dust lurks on my body.  
  
         I reply to them my way.  
  
         I smile.  
  
  
  



End file.
